Adolescence is never easy. Suddenly, you find yourself faced with these changes, awkward encounters, and to top it off, you’re forcibly made aware of the world, and then expected to somehow understand it all. Or at least, attempt to keep up. It’s a hard story to tell, especially if you add in the complexities of gender, race, and socio-economic issues—yet writer-director Celine Sciamma did just that with her third feature, Bande De Filles, which adapts Girlhood as its English title.
Celine is no stranger to coming-of-age films. Her previous works, Water Lilies and Tomboy, both depict the struggles of young girls growing up. But this one is markedly different. One glaring proof is that it’s dominantly composed of a French-African cast, led by then newcomer Karidja Touré. Sadly, diversity is a rarity even in French cinema. However, it’s important to note that Celine is a White arthouse director. To critics who question her right to tell the story of young, French-African women, she asserted that she’s familiar with the banlieue (suburbs) world. “I have a strong sense of having lived on the outskirts—even if I am a middle-class white girl. I didn’t feel I was making a film about Black women but with Black women—it’s not the same,” she said in a statement. “I’m not saying, ‘I’m going to tell you what it’s like being Black in France today’; I just want to give a face to the French youth I’m looking at.”
She further explains, she was inspired by the teenage girls she regularly sees around their area—”always in a gang, loud, lively, dancing.” The director quips, “Beyond their irresistible energy, their profiles reflect all the themes that are at the heart of my ongoing work as a filmmaker: the construction of a feminine identity within the framework of social pressure, restrictions and taboos, of which the question of plays on image and identity are central.”
Obviously, I cannot speak for that community on whether or not they were represented properly. But safe to say I was moved and did feel like Celine managed to tell an effective story. Although I cannot entirely relate to this story, there were many moments that had an undeniably universal appeal, and spoke to me as a woman in this society trying to find her identity and way in life.
Girlhood tells the story of 16-year-old Marieme (Karidja Touré) who lives in one of the housing projects in Paris with her family. Her mother is mostly absent doing night-shift cleaning work, so the household, which includes her two younger sisters whom she visibly adores, is practically run by their brother who gets physically abusive towards Marieme. Upon learning she may not continue to high school, and working as a cleaning lady like her mom is the only alternative for her, Marieme turns to a local girl gang. Previously a mere spectator, she soon became a part of the group composed of Adiatou (Lindsay Karamoh), Fily (Mariétou Touré), and their leader, Lady (Assa Sylla). Notably, her crush on Ismael—a friend of her brother’s, who also belongs to a gang—affected this decision.
Before long, Marieme adapts a new name, changed the way she looks to fit in with her new crowd, and became involved in petty crime such as shoplifting and bullying her former schoolmates for cash. Their gang uses this to check into a hotel, and have a night out, allowing Mariem a form of escapism. Definitely one of the high points of the film is the girls dancing to Rihanna’s “Diamonds” while wearing stolen dresses—possibly one of the most poignant movie scenes I have ever seen. With her cinematographer, Crystel Fournie, Celine managed to simultaneously evoke a sense of empowerment and melancholy to viewers. Despite their mischief, you can’t help but root for this band of “misfits” desperately trying to grasp happiness and a sense of belonging within each other, amid the grim realities of life.
Commentaries on gender issues are of course present throughout the film. In a fight with their rival girl gang, the ultimate shame and sign of defeat comes when a member leaves the other topless. When Lady lost in the initial fight, Marieme successfully vindicates her; taking her opponent’s bra as a “trophy.” (Safe to say, this vile act imposes a response unique to women.) While this earned her the fleeting respect of her brother, he soon became violent when he found out about her sexual and romantic relationship with Ismael. This led to Marieme leaving their home and selling drugs for a well-known crew. In that new phase of her life, Marieme transforms herself yet again. As a form of survival, she cut her hair short and bandages her breasts to appear like a man and avoid sexualization. As the film would suggest, this type of drastic attempt still proves ineffective in warding off harassment.
We eventually see Marieme come into her own, in the defining moment where she refused Ismael’s offer of a stable, traditional family life. And that culminating scene of Marieme walking away from her home lingers long after the credits had gone. I love an ambiguous ending, and this one—heavy yet retaining a sense of hope and compassion—hit especially hard. The kind of feels that haunts you.
Photo courtesy of Karidja Touré’s Instagram account
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